Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. She is extremely lovely, but for her to have borne the name of the Blessed Virgin would have been nothing short of sacrilege. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. That’s how it takes me.
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