CHAPTER XXVII. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. “You can look as innocent and shocked as you please. You understand me, Charcoal. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. .
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