They thought that she was her own mother. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. There was no point in rushing into the long walk home. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. Your pets are gone. “Only so many men neglect their duties.
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