He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. " "Can I have a word with you, master?" said Sheppard, approaching Wood. It was perfectly legitimate.
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