“When they tap the roof,” she said, in a voice of authority, “you are to come out. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration.
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