Not a word could she drag
out of this very perverse and determined old lady concerning the
state of the patient, nothing except that he was "better," or
"doing nicely," or that the bandage was being shortened, or some
other commonplace. Uncle Peter had been kinder. He understood--she
saw that in his eyes. Still even Uncle Peter had not told her all
that she wanted to know, and of course she could not ask him.
Soon a certain vague antagonism began to assert itself toward the
old lady who knew so much and yet who said so little! who was too
old really to understand--no old person, in fact, could
understand--that is, no old woman. This proved, too, that this
particular person could never have loved any other particular
person in her life. Not that she, Ruth, loved Jack--by no manner
of means--not in that way, at least. But she would have liked to
know what he said, and how he said it, and whether his eyes had
lost that terrible look which they wore when he turned away at the
station to go back to his sick bed in the dingy hotel.
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