Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. 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. “One doesn’t want to turn the whole thing into a mere sex antagonism. ‘Go you through the passage and find the other door.
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