“Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. " Darrell's attention was drawn to the latter part of this speech by a slight pressure on his foot.
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