“And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. Of course Ruth was not aware that in this same volume there were lyrics known the world over. Smith, placing his hand on his breast. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home.
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