She felt like a dried-up old woman. He suspected a trap. "This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. “I have been amusing myself up to now by trying to earn my living,” she replied. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault.
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