After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She thought about just asking him to take 116 her to his place and get it over with, but she reconsidered and decided to attempt to get to know him better. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. You yourself supplied the details.
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