‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. “No,” said her brother, conclusively, “it’s not for a parent to go on persuading a child. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. . Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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