"Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine action might give him a hand-hold on life again. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore. "I'll see. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. \"He's good-looking. We went to the Embassy.
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