It cuts. She observed a man walking on the opposite side of the way and looking toward her. The shock and distress were genuine. “I believe it is. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. She had also discovered the names of Grimm and Andersen; but at that time she had not been able to visualize "the pale slender things with gossamer wings"—fairies. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. B. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed.
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