"He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. The father was a madman. 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. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable.
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