Her hormones were raging stupidly. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. He returned the locket without comment. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.
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