‘I can take care of myself, bête. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. Would you mind?" She wanted another kiss, but she did not know how to go about it; so she satisfied the hunger by pressing his hands to her thundering heart.
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