"You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. “Thank you. ” He played it cool, but he had seen it in her face. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. He wanted to become a millionaire. He handed Ruth a letter.
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