“I think we are growing sensible,” he said. ” He pushed her a dozen yards along the greasy pavement with flat, well-trained hands that there seemed to be no opposing. He uttered her name and his excitement grew when he did not feel a bra. It had been discussed in silence. Certainly he could not move now other than to announce the fact that he had found his man. 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. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame.
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