But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ enquired Gerald gently. That’s why it’s so important I should take my own line now. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world.
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