She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. 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. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. And the age gets higher. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. Tears began to stream from her cheeks.
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