The weed was all right. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. " In the living room Spurlock's glance was constantly drawn toward Ruth; but in fear that she might sense something wrong, he walked over to the piano and struck a few chords.
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