As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. This service rendered, without waiting for any farther order, she withdrew. He felt the first sting of the whip. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. I did not know what I was saying. I consented. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered.
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