You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. 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. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French.
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