And, incidentally, check on that unfortunate young fellow Kimble. She laughed a little contemptuously. 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. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all. No more scuffling.
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