But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked.
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