Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. Her cheeks flushed a dull red.
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