To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. Pray, walk in. I'll knock off at tea. 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.
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