The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. “I can’t. The doctor turned quickly and made for the door, which he opened and shut gently because he was assured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign of violence. He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. He jumped out of the car. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic.
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