’ She paused, struggling for the word. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this. “It’s the spring,” he said. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. 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. When Mrs.
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