He pushed her back forcefully into her seat with his lips, his body automatically responding to her kiss. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. “You have killed me. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. Her eyes followed him. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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