Besides, I do not want a price on my head. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She’s taken my sword. ‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. Certainly not a gentlewoman.
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