Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask. They went to the gate and stopped there, gabbed with their men, and didn’t even dismount. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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