But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning.
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