She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. No one was allowed to pass along Newgate Street, which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever.
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