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He lit a cigarette and loitered about. 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 turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble.
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