"Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. “That’s what we narcs have to do. 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. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor.
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