CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. Wood fancied he recognised. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. The audience clapped more heartily.
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