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. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. And the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely.
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