“Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. "You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. 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. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. I suppose I ought to have been a man. What you’re after is too risky. “Thanks to you. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. She did not bother with the backpack despite its due tomorrow status.
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