’ Mrs Ibstock’s lips tightened and she looked away a moment. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. 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. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek.
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