The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. Jack was completely overcome. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. No matter. ” She replied.
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