He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. All at once she became aware of sounds outside. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried.
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