She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. Twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history. Sebastian dug through the viscous layers of foul-smelling clay with a shovel, each successive insertion creating an obscene sucking noise that ate at her sanity. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation.
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