He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ‘And this is where you have been all the time?’ ‘I would have been back in a day, I promise you. I wondered what you could be doing and what might be happening to you. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout.
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