She could not say a word, much less move. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. “No, I mean that we should assemble ourselves in case your parents arrive home. See what you have made of me. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Section 3. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once.
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