He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. The aunt laughed. Mr. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. You have to see her to understand. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient.
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