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. “She contrives somehow to strike the personal note in an amazing manner. A dressing-room then. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. And also I have this Prudence.
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