She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. That is not reasonable. I want to be whatever I can to you. So she built a shrine. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. ” She chilled Ann Veronica a little by that last phrase, and yet the magnetism of her fellowship and enthusiasm was very strong; and it was pleasant to be made out a heroine after so much expostulation and so many secret doubts. In my search after strange characters, Mr. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. "Ruth?" he called.
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