"Ali Baba, in a blue-serge coat!… God-forsaken fool!" CHAPTER XIII One day Ruth caught the patient's eyes following her about; but there was no question in the gaze, no interest; so she pretended not to notice. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. It’s just that I want to say. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. I am going to help take care of him," said Ruth, quite ordinarily, as though taking care of unknown derelicts was an ordinary event in her life. She became more and more alive, not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. I miss them so. She lied. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. . " "Ha!" exclaimed Jack, drawing in his breath, and leaning forward with intense curiosity.
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