He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. ‘Bête. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. . So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. ‘It could not be helped, whichever way I made my presence known.
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