“You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. 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. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. ” Courtlaw crossed the room and threw open the door.
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