She worried for her father in Mantua, 28 hoping that he was still alive. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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