Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. I’m too young 117 for this to sound right. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. “May I sit beside you?” “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round.
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