It is difficult to express these things. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do.
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