It isn’t what I have been but what I am. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. In fine, to marry Ruth (if she would consent) as a punishment for what he had done! To whip his soul so long as he lived, but to let his body go free! To provide for her, to work and dream for her, to be tender and thoughtful and loyal, to shelter and guard her, to become accountable to God for her future. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London.
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