"They say her son's taken at last, and is to be hanged. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. ‘Imbecile. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. Then they rode off at speed. She leaned back as he climbed on top of her and kissed her mouth again.
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