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. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation. The child fell within a short distance of Darrell, who, hearing the splash, struck out in that direction, and caught it before it sank. I spend many delightful hours thinking of the pleasant and beautiful things of life. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech.
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