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Rollo barked. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. "Don't touch me. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met. She realized that no man had ever placed a mantle of respect upon her as Sebastian did; respect for more than just her pretty face and her now lost ability to bear children. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. His food lay untouched about his plate. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. . Hopefully. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength.
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