Ruth had moved with the report of the pistol; she was at Hamlin's side
when he fell, grasping one of his arms; and she went down with him, to
one knee, dazed from the suddenness of the thing; palzied with horror,
the room reeling around her.
How long she knelt at her father's side she did not know. It seemed only
a second or two to her when she raised her head and looked around with
dumb, agonized grief at the faces that seemed to fill the place. Then
she heard Warden's voice; he spoke to the dark-faced man who had killed
her father, and his voice was vibrant with a mocking, Satanic
satisfaction.
"You've wanted her, Slade--take her!"
The dark-faced man grinned at her, bestially. She leaped to her feet at
the expression of his eyes, and started to run toward the door. But
terror shackled her feet; it seemed that some power was dragging at her,
holding her back from the door. She had not taken more than half a
dozen steps when Slade was upon her.
His strength seemed to be prodigious, for despite her desperate
resistance he lifted her from the floor, crushed her to him and started
for the stairs. She screamed, begging the men in the room to help her.
But through the haze she saw grinning faces turned to hers; heard loud
laughter and coarse oaths.
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