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. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. Like the Valades, I imagine. ’ She shook her head. She turned back into the hall. “And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead.
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