‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. 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. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house. And she is very young, younger than her years. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. I wonder what it was. She pushed him gently on the chest. Gerald stayed him.
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