They don’t count, and I don’t care. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. Wood's," was the reply. There ends my duty.
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