" "Pity!" shrieked the widow. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. “John?” He turned around in the recliner. “I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap gets up. ’ ‘In one little minute,’ she said, snapping her fingers, ‘it is over and voilà tout. “Very likely,” he answered. You won't mind if I empty this gin?" "No. From the beginning. 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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