’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times. I want to be a human being; I want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little corner.
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