"Fly, Captain—fly!" Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door. I’m starving. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well.
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