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That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. But those days are over—quite over. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. You are much more like what I was then. ” She interrupted as Ann Veronica was about to speak again, with a bright contagious hopefulness. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side.
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