The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. "Have you broken out of the cage, Jack?" "Something like it," replied the lad carelessly. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. 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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