He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. ‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Did you warn Frith?’ ‘Yes. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. CHAPTER X.
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