“Oh. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. I have healed and I am still your wife!\" She looked at him desperately, his eyes illuminated by firelight. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. Some foul murder has been committed. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. It was so arranged that Ruth went on duty after breakfast and remained until noon. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. It was not that the servants could not, they simply preferred to.
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