Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. The attempt was unsuccessful. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. ‘Very. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there. Take it, if I die. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. 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.
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