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Sheppard had been interred. Gerald’s temper flared. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. Not afraid of me, either. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him.
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