‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene.
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