She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea.
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