Pinkey, that sinister buccaneer, could have eaten a dozen Baileys.
Devouring aspiring young men of the Bailey type was Norman's chief
diversion.
Ruth knew nothing of these things. She told herself that it was her
abruptness that had driven Bailey away.
Weariness and depression had settled on Ruth since that afternoon of
the storm. It was as if the storm had wrought an awakening in her. It
had marked a definite point of change in her outlook. She felt as if
she had been roused from a trance by a sharp blow.
If Steve had but known, she had had the "jolt" by which he set such
store. She knew now that she had thrown away the substance for the
shadow.
Kirk's anger, so unlike him, so foreign to the weak, easy-going person
she had always thought him, had brought her to herself. But it was too
late. There could be no going back and picking up the threads. She had
lost him, and must bear the consequences.
The withdrawal of Bailey was a small thing by comparison, a submotive
in the greater tragedy. But she had always been fond of Bailey, and it
hurt her to think that she should have driven him out of her life.
It seemed to her that she was very much alone now. She was marooned on
a desert island of froth and laughter. Everything that mattered she had
lost.
Even Bill had gone from her. The bitter justice of Kirk's words came
home to her now in her time of clear thinking.
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