She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. Brown was not a blind man and had assiduously observed many a student soap opera over the years. It was eleven o'clock. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right.
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