Mercifully, the Peters had moved to Rhode Island about six months after the tragedy. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you.
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