It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. “But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. "It'll ease your mind. I'm an old hand at such things. 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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