Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. Sebastian traveled at seventy, eighty, then one-hundred down the freeway. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea.
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