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. Guns were impossible. To-morrow at twelve I'll be with you, Mr. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. CHAPTER XXIX.
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