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. A sudden knock at the door startled her. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. It isn’t all. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. ‘That’s my pet name. As he felt the threshold of soft wetness he froze and said, “Lucy, are you sure?” She whispered, “Yes,” and guided the top of his penis into her vagina.
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