"Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. ‘So it was. Darrell. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously.
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