CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. His literary instincts began to stir. They weren’t very chummy with one another but Sheila 113 didn’t expect much from a foster daughter as long as she worked hard, very hard, to earn her keep. He was disquieted. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to.
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