As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. 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. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. The man is a stranger to me. Brown broke the silence.
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