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. \"What did you do?\" Mike asked. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. “A man can manage without hair; A man scores always, everywhere. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work.
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