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Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. No! not even the derivation! But the fashion’s been set and in it you must be.
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