He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. “Of course I will,” he answered. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. The light would betray us. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner.
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