‘You are outrageous. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. 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. As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. He had something across his knees.
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