” He kissed her, and handed her into the carriage. 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. "Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. “He knows. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves.
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