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. "Your detective has been remiss in his duty; let him suffer for it. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Go on and tell me. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. .
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