Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. She looked stealthily at Anna. But really it is much more than that. He only laughed his defiance. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Wood; "that's the surest way!" "No! no! give it me!" vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back.
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