Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon.

So, adroitly and patiently, he pulled Ruth apart; that is, he plucked forth a little secret here, another there, until he had quite a substantial array.

What he did not know was this: Ruth surrendered these little secrets because the doctor had warned her that the patient must be amused and interested.
From time to time, however, he was baffled.

The real tragedy--which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching--eluded all his verbal skill.

It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.