She did not see Sebastian turn towards the boy and his family, but every hair on the back of her neck stood up rigidly. 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. Pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly. ” So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into the spirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thing underlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner.
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