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. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. " "Mad as you are, you're the more sensible of the two, I must say," rejoined Jonathan. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. Anna, you shall not go. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. It was only a matter of time.
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