" "Oh, no!" Ruth protested. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. He resumed his listening. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.
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