It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. John picked it up and put it in her hands. In vain Wood protested his innocence. “You shall,” she said. He could not possibly lunge in the confined space, and so had nothing to do but back himself into the chapel as fast as he could. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks. Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. All right! I’m off. I want to put myself into your hands. He and her father shook hands manfully.
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