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. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. Ireton, was appointed to the office, stood with a hammer in one hand, and a punch in the other, near the great stone block, ready to fulfil his duty. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited. Without you, we might have had some trouble.
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