He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. ’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm. Ruth?" "Why the devil not? Why do you suppose she married you if she didn't love you? While you read I watched her face.
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