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. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them. ” His arms were around her. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. " "You will never become that, Ruth. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. Her eyes were wide and bright.
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