" This readiness to surrender the coat to her surprised Ruth. Her lips were dry and cracked. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture.
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