Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. Rank ingratitude, I call it. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. She did not know herself. He nodded. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. What she actually wanted was the present state of affairs to continue indefinitely. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. Sometimes when adrenaline rushes through a body. Most of the time, he was hunting and he returned at night. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word.
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