But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. 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. Before she knew what had happened, Gosse turned suddenly, and vaulted one of the pews into the gap behind. "Go on.
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