Besides, she had admitted her identity. “You can look as innocent and shocked as you please. I wish to rise in the world, mademoiselle, and you are going to help me. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. “This has almost killed your father. I would that you were my own. You are the woman I love, Anna.
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