Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. White assented. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. I imagine that even you must realize that this is of some importance. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. This time there wasn't any doubt. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. "Thank you, Mrs. Oh, I know. My sister made me over, you know.
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