She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. He did not disturb any of this litter, but left it as a mark of his prowess. "I am very wicked," she said. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. Stanley’s pace slackened. So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe.
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