From the Sha-mien to the yacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in the semi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him. The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching. At last he could bear it no longer. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. She crooked her finger. “You did your best to kill me,” he said.
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