She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. You know I am in love with you. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in.
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