His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s. For that my father so stupide was in love with this Suzanne Valade, is it not?’ ‘Well, miss,’ temporised Mrs Ibstock, ‘we didn’t rightly know that then. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. I trust that she will not misunderstand me.
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