" Ruth's eyes began to glow. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. ’ I said. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. "I'll cut down him who opposes me. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber.
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