The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. "I witnessed the bet. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please.
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