She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. A true nun. Wood could stand it no longer. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them.
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