” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. 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. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. " "Are you friendly toward him?" asked McClintock, passing a fine cigar across the table. “I am a fool,” he said.
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