’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. 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. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. Never since I was a girl have I seen your father so moved. The period of repression was over. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone.
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