He handed Ruth a letter. Her steps slowed. "Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. 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. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances.
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