She spoke slowly. Not content with this, the assailants set fire to the house in half-a-dozen other places; and the progress of the flames was rapid and destructive. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. "You are angry?" "Very. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. 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.
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