The third item she took with a trembling hand by its waistbelt. “No!” she exclaimed. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. 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. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage.
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