That place was closed by the police last month. “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened.
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