"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. . ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast.
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