It was a mad half-hour. We were to have breakfast there and return in the evening. 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. She cried out his name in ecstasy. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. "Very well," said Rachel, with a toss of her pretty head, "very well.
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