’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. 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. Wild's orders. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm.
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