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Lucy did not want to have to kill the mother, as she hated more than anything to kill women, no matter what their sins. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. . ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. He smiled. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. What right had a young woman to possess the scarring and intimate knowledge of that dreg of human society, the beachcomber? CHAPTER II Ah Cum lived at No.
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