Blueskin, you are a true friend. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us.
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