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. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say. He laughs at locks and bolts; and the more carefully you guard your premises from him, the more likely are you to insure an attack. ” “I will have your reason for this,” he said. Like the flaws of an old marble. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. ” And she knew that she was safe.
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