In a moment his grasp grew weaker. 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. "A hundred pounds if you do it quickly. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth.
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