" "It's all so big and aloof. . ” He said jealously. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. So I set out to find you, even if it cost ten times sixteen thousand. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her.
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