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. “Please forgive me, Lucy. ‘Hilary!’ The captain appeared, alert at the note in his major’s voice as Gerald had known he would be. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me.
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