He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. It was really most vivid, most vivid! You seemed to be slipping and just going to tumble and holding on. And some were adorned with engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than anything she had ever seen in her life.
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