“I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. 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. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. ’ ‘Even if they militiamen weren’t there, miss,’ cautioned her cavalier, ‘you couldn’t go marching into the house open like. . Ruth loved him.
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