"Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. Enschede's daughter. ‘This idiotic female—’ ‘This imbecile has made me—’ ‘—made me lose my temper, and I—’ ‘—cut him with my dagger, and he is—’ ‘—damn near slit her throat!’ ‘—bleeding like a pig!’ ‘Whoa, whoa!’ stormed the captain, starting forward. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. 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.
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