Jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. One has to train one’s self not to. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Ennison.
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