As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. These particulars are familiar to all, who have any title to the knowledge. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. It is impossible. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. “Marriage certificates don’t tell lies, at any rate,” he said.
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