‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. He was the true optimist; and that he should proceed, serenely unconscious of reefs and storms, she accepted the double buffets. I sha'n't cry any more. Sheppard, I'm sure, will say as much for you. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on.
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