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. Mr. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. " "Trying to.
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