"Where is he?" he cried. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. 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. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat.
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