Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. “That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. " "Mend!" echoed Mrs. .
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