Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Still, I suppose Melusine can always sell the house. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels.
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