She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. “I’m being honest with you. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. 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. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. He will be here in a moment or so, and you will then learn his determination. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk.
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