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. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. She was definitely following him. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste.
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