The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. Most subjects of any depth were taboo between them, especially when they were in his convertible. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense.
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