She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. Nothing else was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. She immediately took the pillows from under the head of the man who had two names, released the collar and tie, and arranged the arms alongside the body. 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. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison.
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