They were so good to me. You do not believe me. 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. Her head rose. A remittance man. Never since I was a girl have I seen your father so moved. So long. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them.
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