No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. The Jew, who was paralysed by his companion's fate, offered no resistance, and was instantly seized. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience.
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