The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything.
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