Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. You know I call that positively wicked.
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