But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. 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. “This is wonderful! I’ve been feeling that you had vanished from my world. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself. Or perhaps my father once.
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