Her steps slowed. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. I must have something in hand. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee.
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