He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. It was then, I am sure, empty. ‘Wait for me.
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