’ ‘But what have I done?’ protested Gerald innocently. It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties. "I'm going back for Ruth. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded.
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