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. "Do you hear that! We are not wholly at fault. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. "I have killed her," cried Jack. His eyes were red. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate.
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