I have—run away. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. “Listen,” she said. Then you have altered not only that, but your manner of dressing it. I want to fill it with fine and precious things. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. Don’t be frightened, dear.
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