III. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. We were worried. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. He opened the drawer of the writing table. It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house.
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