” She looked around the apartment again. “Read this, John. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. Stanley lost patience. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. . Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. A fortnight passed, then a month. Wood. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid.
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