‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. The water was cold but she waded deeper. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. . ’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured.
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