When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. “Excuse me a moment. All her life Martha had been there. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. Go to her and tell her. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes.
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