" Blueskin nodded, and left the room. He broke his arms in two places and several bones in his right hand. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing.
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