But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. "That's a good story, lad. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth.
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