On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back.
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