You are my slave—and such you shall continue. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered. Oh God! pardon me.
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