Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. He'd have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out. "The marriage was never consummated," continued the imperturbable stranger. "Mercy!" screamed Mrs. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his.
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