But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. 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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