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. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser. And from then on we'll see them, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction.
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