And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. 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 met him by the dugout after the game.
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