Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. “See that man?” Sebastian would tap her on the shoulder on a crowded alleyway and say, “See how he lingers too long when he touches that little child? The glow in his eyes? That is lustful intent, my dear. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that.
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