” He held out his hand obediently. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. gutenberg. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. She acted as her mother had taught her to. “I would not have you go for anything,” she answered.
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