"I had no thought of injuring your wife, and would have died rather than commit so foul a crime. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. He was accompanied by Ireton and Austin. McClintock. But it sounds too real to be imagined. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner.
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