The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. The thought of beauty became an obsession. “I too am asked. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. 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. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt.
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