" There was a pause. “I want to make you happy, Lucy. I thought it better not to send him away till I'd mentioned the circumstance to you. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. Wild is a friend of yours, I'm sorry for what I said. After all, it was really rather funny. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. He's passed through some rough mental torture.
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