His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. To buy the freedom of a poor little Chinese slave-girl! For what was the sing-song girl but a slave, the double slave of custom and of men? Ruth wanted to know keenly what had impelled the idea. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy.
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