’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. Just dreamed—and ran away even from my dreams. . "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. 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. just furtive meetings. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on.
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