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” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. No, never mind about thanking me. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Shortly to be executed. Well, my friend found us out, and would give no quarter. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape.
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