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" Then he looked at Ruth. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. .
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