“Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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