The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. You’re mine. You, for instance, you live, you are not afraid to live. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She dare not risk it. She could not bear the shame of it.
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