That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. I'll knock off at tea. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor.
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