There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. The Night-Cellar. They reluctantly went back to school the Thursday after New Year’s Day.
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