“What did it matter?” she cried. "I am very wicked," she said. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. The light touch of Ah Cum's hand upon her arm broke the thread of retrospective thought; and her gray eyes began to register again the things she saw. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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