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Here are their letters. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. She became more and more alive, not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. You've been a great help these five days; for he had to have attendance constantly, and neither Wu nor I could have given that. Hill closed his eyes.
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