She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. “It was fine and brave of you. But I shall take care of Ruth, work for her and fight for her. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself.
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