A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. 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. There was a black fear in his heart. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. After dessert was finished, John took Lucy for a ride in his car. . Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. The doctor frowned. ’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed.
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