Her cheeks were aflame. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. John’s father brought down a violin from a high closet shelf. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. She could have kissed Cathy. The movement was fatal to her son.
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