The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He was tall, slender, and suave. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. Disperse in every direction. And yet, the doctor recalled an expression of the girl's: that it was not a dissipated face, only troubled. Never mind. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. It’s a beautiful plant, but a tender one. Could she go through with it? She must. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. I do not love you.
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