] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. You sent back my Christmas checks. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. .
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