The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. “I know. What you said wanted saying. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. Get on with it, then.
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