Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Ed. Spurling had retired for the night. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. May I know your name?’ The lady eyed him. The boy she had loved was gone. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. You are the High Priestess of Life.
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