“Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. She was nearly dead. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. 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. “I——” The door opened, and the doctor entered softly.
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