He turned, expecting to see his wife. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. “Anna!” she repeated. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said.
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