We were alike. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. . The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Those were great tricks that you pulled with the car and the glass, but why shouldn’t I believe that this has all been an elaborate hoax?” He asked. He begged their attention for the next turn. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead.
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