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. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. She sat perfectly still, however. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. "My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! It cannot be. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. We’ll make short work of them. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. "Let him be handcuffed, and doubly ironed on both legs; and when we get him into the Stone Ward, he shall not only be chained down to the ground, but shall have two additional fetters running through the main links, fastened on each side of him.
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