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Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. But at the word “home” she turned again. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversions to serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought in his head—that Ruth loved him! He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung hands digging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem—he could not grip it. ‘But a spy I am not.
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