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. He has a grand time. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. "Oh! if I had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might have been spared me!" "Repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned Wild, bitterly. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. "Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed.
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