Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. “Oh good. Of course Ruth was not aware that in this same volume there were lyrics known the world over. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames.
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