In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. "Then, of course, you must know. If individuality means anything it means breaking bounds— adventure. . Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. ‘Which presupposes that she needs to hide at all. Come down, I say, instantly, or I'll make you. Martha was quite right. 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. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose.
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