The doctor will be here to see you in five minutes. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. You never can tell.
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