Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. I don’t want you to be sad. 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. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. "Now, Mr.
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