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I asked her to marry me, and she consented. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. He turned his back on that temptation. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. .
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