She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. 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. Come, mon ami, come!’ Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. ” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time.
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