Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. 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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. He had found Spurlock. They were only passers-by. I would not have him know—now—for the world. When they reached the door, he kissed her 246 again. The Old Mint. Melusine sighed with relief and set to work by the light of the lantern. The child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean.
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