That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. 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. She held up the lamp. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. "Coupling their presence with Jack's speech, I couldn't help fearing some mischief might ensue. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. .
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