"But it won't do. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. "He will live," answered Ruth. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Detention was merry for the other detainees.
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