She stepped into his arms. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. 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. "I believe I'll tear them up. " "Would he had done so!" cried Jack.
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