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. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. "Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam.
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