Little woman, you have been brave enough before. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. It was no use. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Not so Gosse.
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