Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. Good and Evil. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. " "Surest thing you know. Or perhaps my father once. "There!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me again. "I know my life is valuable to you, or you would not spare it. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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