Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. Wood started to his feet. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. "I merely asked the question," he said, after he had enjoyed the boy's suspense for a moment. Before her was a great Gothic portal. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold.
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