But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. And you, Austin; and you Langley, I say the same thing to you. I’ve got imagination. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. “It’s very good,” she said.
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