It was the bitterest moment of her life. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. “It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy. And you are something of a heroine, too. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. It was locked. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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