She broke this promise when she told me that my mother was this Mary, and not Suzanne Valade at all. She took up a book and threw it down again. "Not so;" answered Wild. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. 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.
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