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. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. What would you? I cannot fight them all. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. “I have a special surprise for you, Lucia. ’ Gerald ignored this.
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