Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. Lucy sized up the girl. He held her eyes. Squads reached to the very portal of that centre of disturbance. He hated himself a little for it. “It is Michelle, John. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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