‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. “Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold of this at all.
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