And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly. Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label.
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