This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her.
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