But it is my fault. ’ ‘But you must. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. For a time she worried about that compulsory bath and cutaneous diseases.
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