I’m leaving you, and you can’t stop me. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. For Ruth was in love, tenderly and beautifully in love; but she did not know how to express it beyond the fetch and carry phase. It’s not like we’re getting married. ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy.
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