A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. They fell in a diapason of smashes. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. 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. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. "Ruth?" he called.
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