Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. Nothing else matters. “I’ve thought about it. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. O'Higgins know the truth; he wouldn't be reckless with the funds, then. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo.
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