CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. ‘You can’t go to England. ’ ‘Not if you want one of good family, no,’ he agreed mildly. “Is that plain?” she asked. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. “I detest amateurs. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. ” “I could have said more. \" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight.
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