” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Wood's at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. “I can tell you are thinking about it.
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