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. It was a hoax, it was the only thing possible, until she heard Cathy say, “Let me hold those for you. "We were close upon him when he suddenly disappeared. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone.
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