’ ‘But you are bleeding like a pig,’ came the frantic response. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. It was among artistic people. But I'm not worrying about that.
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