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. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. If only to say goodbye. Now, let’s get down to business. It was his purpose to complete four or five stories before he sent any away.
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