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“It’s my fault. I——” The door was thrown open. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Most of it had been incomprehensible to her, or comprehensible in a way that checked further curiosity, but the figure of Vivien, hard, capable, successful, and bullying, and ordering about a veritable Teddy in the person of Frank Gardner, appealed to her. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. " For some reason she did not then understand, Ruth did not offer the information that Taber had another name. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation.
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