’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. All right! I’m off. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. He'd never forgive you. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. ‘Go you through the passage and find the other door. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters.
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