‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. “I feared we might have a fog. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. The coolies proceeded at a swinging, mincing trot, which gave to the suspended seat a dancing action similar to that of a suddenly agitated hangingspring of a birdcage. I am going to help take care of him," said Ruth, quite ordinarily, as though taking care of unknown derelicts was an ordinary event in her life. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She wanted to be alone.
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