The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. I've got an address here. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. “I expected you this morning,” he said. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness.
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