Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. . . Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. This she put into the trunk. His movements became quicker, and she made grinding motions with her hips that began to please her as well. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. “We pretend bodies are ugly. ‘I have a very good mind to do so, imbecile.
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