A little kindness would not bring the world tumbling about her ears. 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. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed.
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