"All's bowman, my covey. 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. But she had loved the man. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. He has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. She wanted to live. There was going to be no quarter between these two. We had no idea. Anna, my love, you cannot have forgotten so soon.
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