Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. " Mr. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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