I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. 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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