She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. When sentence was passed there wasn't a dry eye in the court. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand.
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