I can’t help it. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Well, whenever you say, I promise to do away with the mystery. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing.
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