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" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. Here, turnkey. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past had been he neither cared nor craved to know. My Mom and Dad were on the brink of divorce, what else is new, they still are. He could hardly open the envelope, he trembled so. We have him as safe as a linnet in a cage; and could wring his neck round as easily. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself.
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