For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. In fine, to marry Ruth (if she would consent) as a punishment for what he had done! To whip his soul so long as he lived, but to let his body go free! To provide for her, to work and dream for her, to be tender and thoughtful and loyal, to shelter and guard her, to become accountable to God for her future. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. I wouldn't allow you to be honest even if you could be so,—which I doubt. Lots of us are like that.
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