Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. Not then. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably.
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