” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. Now, do what you please. 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. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand.
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