" The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. You have taken my dagger. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. I don’t. .
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