She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. Once he chuckled aloud. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. “Oh, that. ” He was suddenly resentful. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. Don’t look so frightened. His voice had broken. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet.
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