"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. “You are in trouble,” he said. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. " There was a pause.
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