Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. ’ He nodded. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. She's the boss.
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