The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. I’ve got imagination.
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