What he had sought in Ruth was in her possession, the possibility of happiness.

Life had deluded him and seemed about to crush him in a savage clutch.

As he moved along the street, this apprehension lay cold in his breast; he could not dismiss it; it persisted like a dull throb of pain.

A sudden fury swept him.
The place was becoming intolerable, the mesa a hell.

He burned to chuck the whole wretched business.
When he returned with the car he was at least outwardly calm.