Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. We'll see whether he'll get rid of his new bonds?" he added with a brutal laugh, which was echoed by the bystanders. Ramage demurred. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. It was no marriage at all.
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