’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. "Pah! He's a fool. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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