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It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. A fortnight passed, then a month. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. This business of love is the supreme affair in life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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