" "Go, Mr. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. “Julian, please, let’s go to your place. I’ll come and see you again later on. ‘No. "Thank you," she said, and left the office. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable.
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