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But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. ’ ‘We had other matters on hand this morning,’ Roding told him sharply.
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