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Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands.
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