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. ‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. Clarice was from Lombardy, fair-haired and light skinned. ” He slipped off the horse. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity.
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