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. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years.
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