In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. 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. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French.
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