What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. But me, I am going to England. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. “I should like to understand you,” he said. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table.
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