He waved a hand toward the sea. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. That is what my mother used to call me. gutenberg.
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