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“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. ” She relented. So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. Give me your hand. I should have gone mad without it. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. Ruth could not be told now. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air.
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