” Her hands fell to her side. I can’t even make myself care. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?” “Don’t!” she cried. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. He turned the water off and handed her a towel. In this part of the world it is wise never to be separated from your luggage. . . But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. The Widow and her Child.
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