All at once she became aware of sounds outside. He stood before her. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. 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.
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