If this idiotic marriage is binding then I will be her friend. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. It was a brief solitude, however. Playing became a way of escape. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces.
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