“Maybe I should have stayed home. You are very lovely, Ruth. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. . ” “It is an accident,” he answered. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach.
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