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. The blades on the top spun faster and faster. "He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. Her skin prickled. ‘If he needed sanctuary, it raises grave doubts about his activities. There is strength in you— misguided. E.
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