“You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. "What has happened?" Ruth asked. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. “And you?” “Same thing. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action.
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