82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. He insisted once again on opening the car door for her. Even the children jeer. Leonardo had not taught her to do so. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. It’s not fair to you. "You must be a cleverer lad than even I take you for, if you get out of this place.
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