The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. Business exists for such interruptions. I never could.
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