“I find it very hard to write this letter. Will you stand by and watch me?" The contents of the trunk only thickened the fog. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The perception of him flooded her being. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. A quarter of an hour passed. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. Another car followed, a rusty Cadillac sedan full of kids. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light.
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