My only love is for my poor lost son. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years. Water I need. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. It was a mass of knick-knacks. I swear it. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it.
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