A quick flush stained her cheeks. It is like some accident. 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. It was hard to gain weight when you hated to eat. “Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. All sorts of considerations come in. Just a friendly polite suggestion.
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