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They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former. " "Exactly my sentiments," rejoined Blueskin. He shook his head all the time.
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