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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. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. " "I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack. You are afraid of kisses. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her.
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