She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. But her request was unheeded. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. Sometimes ships would stop three or four days for water and repairs; and the men would carouse in the back room at Morgan's. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. . ’ Gerald tutted.
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