There was a little murmur of consternation from the waiting crowd, and the florid young woman showed signs of temper, to which Mr. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. "You will before I'm done with you. ” Mr. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. 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. “Take off your tunic. He’s got flowers. ” He frowned. CHAPTER XXII.
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