“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms.
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