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. ‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. ’ She eyed him. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. “Come this way,” he said. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it.
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