To buy the freedom of a poor little Chinese slave-girl! For what was the sing-song girl but a slave, the double slave of custom and of men? Ruth wanted to know keenly what had impelled the idea. "But, perhaps, he has not got beyond the room above. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “I hope you are going to Carey House. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Consternation gripped him. But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. ” “I suppose not.
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