‘Hilary was right. He was not sure that the boy had put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointed that way. 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 fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. All right, I’m coming.
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