“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. I barely prevailed sometimes, but in the end, my wits were faster than their steel. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. “I don’t know, John. Spit of your mother. . Oh, to face facts! Gods! what a world it might be if people faced facts! Understanding! Understanding! There is no other salvation. ‘I knows how to do better nor any surgeon. If she returns to the house from which we took her, her companions will laugh at her and smother her with ridicule. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine.
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