“I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. “My hand! This isn’t the place. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound.
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