He went more easily this time. 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 had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. Montague Hill. I meant to lie to you. I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre. The reward is mine. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.
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