It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that. Her confession was still unmade. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. Disappointment flickered in Gerald’s chest, and he did not hesitate to speak his mind, unable to help a reproachful note.
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