There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. 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. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. ‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths. That’s who you ought to go and see, miss. With her lived a Mrs.
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