She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. “Wonderful!” “I have always longed for prison service,” said a voice, “always. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. Everywhere there are limitations. I have suffered too much from your treachery. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. 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. ‘Dunderhead. F. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's.
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