"Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. 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. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. I received a telegram, as you know, during dinner.
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