It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. ’ ‘Are we to infer that he had a choice?’ enquired Gerald. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. That’s what I mean. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. It'll be your turn to save mine next.
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