‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. 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.
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