And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. . 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. Her hair and voice and figure are as yours used to be.
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