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COMMMOMY ZPZO 
I looked into the shrivelled, but 
otherwise normal, face of the Indian 
woman. What had been her life, her 
heart history, now as completely gone 
as though it had never been — thirty 
years of life struggle in snow and sun, 
with, perhaps, a little joy, and then 
what ? 
Seven brass rings were on her thumb 
and a carved wooden armlet encircled 
the wrist. These I was vandal enough 
to accept from Burfield. There were 
more rings and armlets, but enough is 
enough. As the gew-gaws had a pecu- 
liar, gaseous, left-over smell, I wrapped 
them in my gloves, and surely if trifles 
determine destiny, that act was one of 
the trifles that determined the fact that 
[ was to be spared to this life for yet a 
while longer. For, as I was carelessly 
wrapping up my spoil, with a nose very 
