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. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. She throws a sort of spell over us all. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. He no longer made love to her, as there was no point. "Would you expose yourself to fresh risk? If it hadn't been for her you wouldn't have been placed in your late jeopardy.
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