Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. 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. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. "But it is much to me.
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