He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. I am glad or sorry according as it has brought you happiness. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself.
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