’ Gerald cast a swift look up the corridor, but there was no one there, not even a shadow. Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. ‘You! Tell this fool who is the keeper here to come to me at once. I was the last on board. Italians. ‘Not entirely English then. . Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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