She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. 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 turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. .
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