The door closed softly upon her. “But you’re wrong. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. At least here she was safe. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. ’ ‘Yes, that rather leapt to the eye,’ Gerald said, and the faint smile sent a lick of warmth down inside her. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers.
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