Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Not a breath was drawn. At length, the train approached St. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “Mrs.
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