‘No. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. The will to live had returned. She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. “The sooner you tell me the better. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. But Jack did not heed them. So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused.
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