“You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. And in this fact lay his danger. Just. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. 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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