” “Of course,” said Capes, and threw a newly lit cigar into the fire through sheer nervousness. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. 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.
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