To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark. She had agonized over it for weeks. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. Sheppard. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating.
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