‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. 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. She was like an angel with one wing. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. She traced him by his scent. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father.
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