Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. Why should you want to shield him?" "I really don't know. Mother had forced Lucy to memorize the ingredients of the stews, fairly beating them into her, spanking her backside when she rebelled.
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