He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. He carried a small bag. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Let us pass, Sir.
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