] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. ’ His features relaxed again and he grinned. . After all, she was a consummate actress. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. It throbs cruelly. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser.
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