She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. Aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal,—aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. I would do anything—I would give anything to make you mine. Rich folks, once. The delay was only momentary. From then on he was Ruth's dog.
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