" Mr. He closed the door. 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. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. ‘Who telled you that?’ ‘Do not ask me impertinent questions, but only go you and fetch this daughter here to me. We may be stopped. And yet, dang it! I've seen 'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers. His face darkened.
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