He had chosen his time well. When she reflected that Mr. He did so care for you. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. “Perhaps by this time you will have heard of the step I have taken in leaving my home. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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