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It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. 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. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. But nothing followed to indicate that the liquid had stimulated the heart. All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. He slapped his knee. Mr.

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