He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. "I had no thought of injuring your wife, and would have died rather than commit so foul a crime. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. ” “Not yet. " "Six," he corrected. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. ” “Then, by God!” he said, “you’ll be locked up!” Ann Veronica was disconcerted for a moment. John picked it up and put it in her hands.
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