Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Wily little devil she is. He was there concealed, waiting her return. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. You know I call that positively wicked.
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