O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Just dreamed—and ran away even from my dreams. Wood, I forget nothing. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. ” He did not move. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly.
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