"He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. I wish that it worked. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Wells “The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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