‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Ruth did not resent the use of her mind and body in this tale of adventure. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery.
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