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. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. ‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. You get the idea. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. I MUST. She was silent. They all stay!” “And you yourself?” Brendon laughed. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time.
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