He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. What do you think of the old tub?" "She's wonderful!" cried Ruth. I take their life. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her.
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