"Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. She heard him come in; the light burned on. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. I do not want to hear from you even the threat of disobedience.
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