Manning,” she said, “I HAVE a confession to make. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. 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. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. . Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. .
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