“I believe that he would bore me. “I cannot keep silence any longer. We had such a pride in you, such hope in you. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. You can enjoy him and then drink him up. I know who she is, and I know that she has been cheated somehow by the people calling themselves Valade. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least.
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