" "Oh!" Ruth laughed softly. ” He beamed upon her. 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. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. "A husband has little to fear from his wife's kinsfolk. " "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff.
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