Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. She will sail, at early dawn to-morrow, for Rotterdam. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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