—'They have,' says he. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversions to serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought in his head—that Ruth loved him! He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung hands digging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem—he could not grip it. The Night-Cellar XVIII. “Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about.
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