Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one.

Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble.
Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door.

The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her.

So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny.
"Will he live ?" asked Ruth.
"Thanks to you," said the doctor.

"Without proper medical care, he would have been dead by morning." He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully.
The doctor's smile is singular; there is no other smile that reaches the same level.