The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. "I say we, because Miss Rachel and I have struck up a match. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Now I’ll tell you what I propose. She took up a book and threw it down again. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. But I have never seen America. I have never wept since that day. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. “The primitive government was the Matriarchate. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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