" Ruth turned back toward the stairs. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. “Drive towards St. ” He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. The only part of his otherwise-interesting countenance, to which one could decidedly object, was the mouth; a feature that, more than any other, is conceived to betray the animal propensities of the possessor.
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