9. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. 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. She is more dear to me than anything else. “Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. "As soon as we've conveyed you to Newgate, I'll accompany him. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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