"Did I hear you …" began McClintock. ’ That wonderful poster—is of you. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. He is Jacques. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Of course there were goats. 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.
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