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” “Well—” “That’s all. 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. Her father had smiles ready for her, he seemed to be truly happy with her for the first time since her infancy. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. ‘You have rifled his papers.
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