She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. “He knows. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business. . The theme was a masquerade. The thought of beauty became an obsession. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. ‘Soldier of fortune. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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