The heaviness grew unbearable. Another man was touching Ruth. This was unbearable. He couldn't stand it. But why? What difference? He couldn't.... She was so beautiful. Another man's hands were desecration. A weakness came to him. His heart darkened. What if she did, with Schroder? They were probably kissing now. It had been hard to imagine himself kissing her. To him she somehow seemed aloof, beyond possession. But it was easy to imagine Schroder. Men and women put their arms around each other and that was an end to aloofness. He made an effort to pull himself together. Voices were droning around him--other people's troubles. Faces thrust themselves tactlessly at his eyes. He grew nauseated. He had never felt like this before. As if he must do something despite his will. His will said, "Sit there. Don't move. It's none of your business." But this other thing was pulling him out of his seat and moving his body for him. He clenched his teeth and muttered to himself, "She's no good. Wasting my time on her!" "That will be all for today," Basine muttered. He placed his hand wearily over his forehead. This would make them think he was ill. His clerk came forward. "Anything wrong, Judge?" he asked with concern. Basine shook his head with Spartan indifference to the mythical disease consuming him. "No," he said, belying his answer in its tone, "court is adjourned until ten o'clock tomorrow." He nodded briefly at the faces. The solicitous regard in the eyes of attorneys and jurors reassured him. He was ill, very ill--that was it. Of course, that was it. The eyes of the attorneys and jurors said, "You are working too hard. You must be careful of a nervous breakdown. In your prime too. Be careful." He walked off the bench, his step unsteady. He was acting. But the fact that his step was not authenticly unsteady was an accident--and illogical. He felt it logical to walk unsteadily since everyone thought him ill and on the verge of a breakdown. "You'd better go home, Judge." Basine nodded gratefully to his clerk. He opened the door to his chambers. The sight of Schroder bewildered him. Schroder was still there. He had his hat in his hand, though. Basine stared at his friend. His heart contracted and his breath fluttered in his throat. "What's wrong, George?" "Nothing. Headache. Knocked off for the day." Words were hard to speak. His eyes turned to Ruth. She was watching him. Frightenedly, he thought. Had she done something? Kissed? They looked guilty. He tried to find answers to the questions by staring at her. Was she the same as she had been? Or had she given her lips? A vital question. They were going out tonight together. Basine controlled himself. He sat down at his desk and ran his hand wearily over his head. "Well, so long," Schroder spoke. "Hope you feel better, George." A pause. "See you later, Ruth."