“My God!” he said again. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. She has already forgotten it. They will find me dead, yes. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. If you recall, Gianfrancesco’s second cousin had been ransomed by a family they had feuded with for hundreds of years. 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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