"I have no people—anybody who would care."
She kindled with sympathy. He was all alone, too. Nobody who cared.
Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts.
"How long shall I be here?" he asked.
"That depends upon you. Not very long, if you want to get well."
"Are you a nurse?"
"Yes. Don't ask any more questions. Wait a little; rest."
There was a pause. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair.
"Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
"The first day you came. Don't you remember? There were four of us, and we went touring in the city."