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. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. "Children," said the aunt, first to awake, "be young fools as long as God will permit you. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. ’ A giggle answered him.
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