So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. Sheppard. And the fences are down for good. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. “I’ve gotta go. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. Not at all.
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