" "Oh, no!" Ruth protested. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. 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.
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