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. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. His lips were tight drawn. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. “I always shall.
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