And let us go on with our evening. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. Now, he must have folks somewhere. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. Beyond that everything was nebulous. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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