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. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. Ann Veronica loved beautiful things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of women’s bodies. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. She is the wife now of another man. God must love me, for he has guided me here. I can't bear it. . She entered and approached the bunk. It's right Nantz.
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