Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. “These are her rooms,” she said. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. “You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. John’s best friend’s parents were to be out of town again, he reported.
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