Yes, I can readily believe it. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. She knew that the next time he caught her she would not be able to free herself. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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