Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. He insisted on buying this girl for two hundred mex. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. Reaching the panel, she was able with the aid of her lantern to find the lever at once. “You know nothing about the stage.
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