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. “What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. The flight. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. Her parents totally look the other way.
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