She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. 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. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. ” She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely.
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