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. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. ‘Mademoiselle, there is a way to win to freedom and prosperity. I was grounded for the last two weeks. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. ‘I know her, ma’am, but I know next to nothing of her story.
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