"Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. " "You shall finish the bottle when the job's done," replied Jonathan. Please don’t tell anyone, mister. “I have heard of you, of course,” Anna answered hesitatingly, “but——” “You cannot imagine what I have come to see you about.
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