” He said to her, quite unsure of whether or not he was dreaming. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. 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. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. Besides, it was under false pretences. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. I am going to help take care of him," said Ruth, quite ordinarily, as though taking care of unknown derelicts was an ordinary event in her life.
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