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. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. " The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her.
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