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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. Take the one that struck him at this moment. Wood will be intercepted. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. Listen, Jack. The doctor drew out the contents hopefully. I was resolved to see you.
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