To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. A medley of motives warred in her, and it was certainly not one of the least of these that she knew herself to be passionately in love with Capes; at moments she had a giddy intimation that he was beginning to feel keenly interested in her. Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging.
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