His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. She turned back into the hall. ‘I was not born to this. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. . ’ It was thus in stony silence that the pair traversed the short distance to Stratton Street, where Roding knocked on the major’s door and entered a pleasant woodpanelled hall, with his prisoner firmly in tow.
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