She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. It was a huge stone placed there by some workmen occupied in repairing the structure. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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