Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. Gerald’s breath caught. 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. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. " "It is so, nevertheless," replied Wild. Hilary started after her, but Gerald stopped him. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said.
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