The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. 1. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home. How perfectly charming. Piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. The Wastrel did not relish this. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her.
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