"Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. ‘She’s still bleeding. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. Little by little, she stopped hating him. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. There are so many things I want to tell you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is necessarily confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am really giving you the thread of emotion that should run through all this letter.
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