But oh, how weary I am! I know. My father thought the latter. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. It is safe. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. ‘Yes, that is what the nuns they said of me. THAMES DARRELL.
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