But this is not sufficient. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. ” Lord, he was right! But softly now. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. 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. The ragged edge.
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