He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. McClintock does it; and he knows why. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. "When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood. He had heard nothing. "Shpeak up, vill you?" cried Abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble. She hated living like that.
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