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. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. A lot of girls have had it in for him but he must be picky or something because he didn’t go to Junior Prom even though I know he got asked.
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