The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. The fates are never so kind to me.
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