So good an opportunity may never occur again. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that.
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