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. “Some afternoon. Gosse was backing towards the table. Just as he had arrived at the mouth of the drain, and Jack felt certain he must be discovered, a loud shout was raised from the further end of the field that the fugitive was caught. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking.
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