Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that day. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. But recently he had asked God to pile it all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. The house was invisible from the road, and yet enormous once within view. She was already a little prepared by her discursive reading and discussion under the Widgett influence for ideas and “movements,” though temperamentally perhaps she was rather disposed to resist and criticise than embrace them. Opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her.
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