She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. Only the next of kin. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. 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. Vorsack would staunchly disapprove of his attire, said nothing anyway. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively.
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