It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. But he knew. The impassivity of her features changed at last. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed.
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