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. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. His eyes were set too close together. You’re of age— you’re of age. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. No one will ever love you as I love you now. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally.
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