Loneliness. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security.
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