Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. “Damn! Things are getting plainer.
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