“What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. So, forthwith, without any preliminaries beyond introductions, he began the ceremony; and shortly Ruth Enschede became Ruth Spurlock, for better or for worse. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. He threw her on the bed. So it does.
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