Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. This made the eleventh. “How fortunate I am, Miss Pellissier! All day I have been hoping that I might run across you. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. 8.
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