A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. ’ ‘But you managed to escape nevertheless,’ Gerald said calmly, ‘disguising yourself as a nun. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time. .
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