Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the name of Rollo unflinchingly—the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. He asked me to watch Mr. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. Then he turned to Anna. You know—if you want freedom.
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