That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. No trouble will ever come to your sister through me. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that.
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