"Hear me!" cried Thames, bursting into tears. I didn't mean it. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. I'll go with you. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you.
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