Then she took her sister’s hand. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. His perseverance was amply rewarded. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. You are just necessary to life for me. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. ‘Sapristi.
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