’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. As you brew so must you drink. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. 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. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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