For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. “That’s what you’re going to wear. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré. “Let’s go outside. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. And I want him out of uniform.
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