His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. ’ ‘With ease, mademoiselle,’ he countered, catching her blade.
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