] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. "If I were your father, young gentleman," returned Jackson, enraged at the interruption, "I'd teach you not to speak till you were spoken to. "Put it under my pillow," he said. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. ” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. I’m not a psycho. Sir John stood upon the threshold. Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate.
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