Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. "But don't ever let me see them again. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. Ruth shivered; she was cold. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. Anyhow, there it is: YOU ARE NOT GOING THERE.
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