Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. 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.
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