” She said. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. In his way he was critical. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us.
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