Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. ' Avoid taverns and bad company, and you may yet do well. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. ‘Don’t tell me. \" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing.
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