He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. " "Horror!" cried Jack. Lucy ate without passion. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper.
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