Determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. "Ruth?" Silence for a moment. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr.
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