"He is dying?" whispered Ruth. "And what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?" "You mean to kill me," replied Thames, "by my cruel uncle's command. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Why?" "I was just wondering. "My enemy," replied her son.
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