“Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. Had to. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. ” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged. She approached Ruth with open arms; and something in the way the child came into that kindly embrace hurt the older woman to the point of tears. His arm fell to his side. He knocked at the door. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. She spoke slowly. They don’t now. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. He drifted in and out of consciousness. To—to find myself.
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