He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. Peste, she had forgot the sword. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other. He seemed to be thinking hard. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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