The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. Of course. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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