"Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. Now then. To buy the freedom of a poor little Chinese slave-girl! For what was the sing-song girl but a slave, the double slave of custom and of men? Ruth wanted to know keenly what had impelled the idea. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. Life is so good. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared.
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