McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. She was thinking fast now, all her senses on the alert. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. She sat herself upon the bed. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably.
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