" "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. While he was swinging in mid air, Thames regarded his uncle with a stern look, and cried in a menacing voice, "We shall meet again. " He bent his head to his knees. 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. It was good to kiss you, even at the price. gutenberg.
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