“In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. I am gambling on his intuition. 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.
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