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It will kill me to lose you now." "Of course I won't," said Rhoda. "I've had my lesson about losing myself in the desert. But you must have some sleep before we go any farther." Rhoda spoke with a cheerfulness she did not feel. She looked about for a comfortable resting-place but the desert was barren. "There's no use trying to find a comfortable bed," she said.
All I ask is for another night with you. Why did we not lie down together and sleep? We can't sleep now it's day." "Come and lie down with me for a few hours, my darling," said Rhoda.
Rhoda threw up her window before she slept, that she might breathe the cool night air; and, as she leaned out, she heard steps moving away, and knew them to be Robert's, in whom that pressure of her hand had cruelly resuscitated his longing for her. She drew back, wondering at the idleness of men slaves while they want a woman's love, savages when they have won it.
And you say, 'I had a whirl of my head, and went round, and didn't know where I was for a minute, and forgot the place I'd to go to, and come away to think in a quiet part...." He stopped abruptly in his ravings. "You give me the money, Rhoda!" She handed him the money-bags. He seized them, and dashed them to the ground with the force of madness.
Her song, a quaint repetition of short mellow syllables pleased Rhoda's sensitive ear and she lay listening. When Marie saw Rhoda's wide eyes she came to the girl's side. "You feel good now?" she queried. "Yes, much better. I want to get up." The Indian woman nodded. "Marie clean white squaw's clothes. White squaw wear Marie's. Now Marie help you wash." Rhoda smiled.
For the first time in my life, Rhoda, I can fully understand a mother's passion for a crippled, or a blind, or a defective child. I suppose it was only Lisa's desperate need that drew us to her at first. We all loved and pitied her, even at the very height of her affliction; but now she fascinates me. I know no greater pleasure than the daily miracle of her growth.
She knew all this; and this information placed before the police, providing only it was backed by the proof that the scheme to rob Skarbolov was to be carried out by the gang, as she, Rhoda Gray, would say the dying woman had informed her, would be more than enough to clear her.
It was a strange eulogy, self-pronounced! But it was none the less true. Then, she had been Rhoda Gray; now, even the Bussard, doubtless, had forgotten her name in the one with which he himself, at that queer baptismal font of crimeland, had christened her the White Moll. It even went further than that.
"Of course; but Evie, dear, I have been waiting to talk to you about something which has been very much on my mind lately. We are leaving on Thursday, Rhoda and I, and are having a through carriage and every possible appliance to make the journey easy, and I thought that it would be so much simpler for you, dear, to travel with us, and spend a few weeks at the Chase before going home!"
"Rhoda Knox is gone," she announced to Jeff, the moment he walked in. "I sent her yesterday. This girl is going as soon as she can pack." Jeff gave Sophy a directing nod and she slipped out of the room. She was as afraid of him as of the masterful dead woman in the quilted wrapper. Anything might happen since the resurrection of Madam Bell. "Where is she?" asked Jeff, when he had closed the door.
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