He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. A sinister thought edged in. When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged the fast motorboat he had previously bespoken against the need, and started for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking The Tigress. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal.
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