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" "For a bit of kindness?" Ruth was plainly bewildered. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses.
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