‘Come, cry a truce. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. I burned it. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. ’ Gerald grinned. “No, he grabbed my hand. .
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