In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. Mrs. . Do not slight my warning. The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours. Give me the keys and the light. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won.
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