” “A—what?” Anna asked. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. Not much. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. His face will be all I need. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. But stand by and hear such things said about my late mistress’s daughter, I won’t.
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