70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. “We should get out of here. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. Ruth shivered; she was cold. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. I thought about how insensitive my behavior was and even though I don’t think that I was being antiSemitic on purpose, I can see how dumb I was being. The situation bothered him considerably.
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