Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. She was going through with that, anyhow. Her hormones were raging stupidly. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. "So you shall, Sir," replied Austin, who at this moment recollected, with some uneasiness, the applications at the lodge-door during the night. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression.
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