She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. Now how in the world was he to get rid of the husband? His luck was in. 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.
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