“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. He forces an engagement upon her. She felt much better.
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