“I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you. 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. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. Then she reverted to the trousers. I cannot go on. He flipped the television off. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you.
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