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She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. 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. uk Cover Art by David Evans Bailey www. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Roddy muffed two. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. " "It is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. “Leave them!” He yelled.
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