I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. 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. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. “In the event of his death we should require you at once to attend at the inquest.
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