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“That thing’s going on,” she told herself. “Dare!” she said. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. 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. “YOU had to come in. He told me that he was a millionaire. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. My poor Hoddy! I had to talk harshly, or break down and have hysterics.
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