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 could have kissed Cathy. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle.
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