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. She ran from the knave into the women’s quarters. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. \"No, I think he just broke up with someone. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. ‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald.
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