He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. 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. I’m sorry. A dog appeared unexpectedly upon the threshold. She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it.
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