All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Don’t favour your father much, either, if it comes to that. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. No matter. The Return 231 II. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again.
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