"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. “There is no doubt whatever about that. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. My agent is here, and he has brought his contract for me to sign.
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