His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. " Half an hour later she laid aside the book. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. He hasn't found himself, as they say.
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