The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl.
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