A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe.
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