How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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