As the night advanced, Mr. ” “I don’t understand. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. 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. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. . " "Impossible!" rejoined his mother.
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