Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened.
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