We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. \"I had a good time tonight. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Sheppard in a troubled voice, "that if I lost my child, I should lose all I have left in the world.
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