She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. . And empty. ‘If you imagine you’re going to use one ungentlemanly act to manipulate me, you very much mistake the matter. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. “You see, I will take your arm. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically.
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