He was all alone, too. After all, that was life. Suddenly he stopped short. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. Spurling, drily. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing.
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