So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. ’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. After I took the bills it was too late to turn back. ‘I am not a fool. And the woman who showed this room was tall, with an understanding eye and the quiet manner of the well-trained servant. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person.
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