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 want to make you happy, Lucy. He sent me flowers. ’ Joan nodded, her face still averted. ” “Certainly,” Mrs. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly.
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