"An' you
ain't to touch her nuther," he added.
The day wore away, although it was always night in the windowless cave,
and again the trio of men slept, with Maude as guard. Exhausted and
faint, Rosalie fell into a sound sleep. The next morning she ate
sparingly of the bacon and bread and drank some steaming coffee, much to
the derisive delight of the hag.
"You had to come to it, eh?" she croaked. "Had to feed that purty face,
after all. I guess we're all alike. We're all flesh and blood, my lady."
The old woman never openly offered personal violence to the girl. She
stood in some fear of the leader--not physical fear, but the strange
homage that a brute pays to its master. Secretly she took savage delight
in treading on the girl's toes or in pinching her arms and legs,
twisting her hair, spilling hot coffee on her hands, cursing her softly
and perpetrating all sorts of little indignities that could not be
resented, for the simple reason that they could not be proved against
her. Her word was as good as Rosalie's.
Hourly the strain grew worse and worse. The girl became ill and feverish
with fear, loathing and uncertainty. Her ears rang with the horrors of
their lewdness, her eyes came to see but little, for she kept them
closed for the very pain of what they were likely to witness. In her
heart there grew a constant prayer for deliverance from their clutches.
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