“Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. The Wastrel did not relish this. ‘I have an arthritic complaint, which is why you find me retired from fashionable life. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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