What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. It had ceased now, but as he closed in on the area, a faint muttering came to his ears. No; she'd never go back. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. And yet it was basically a fine action. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. That's a queer yarn.
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