He may die. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. "I'm an ungrateful dog!" "You will be if you don't instantly kiss me the way you used to.
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