You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. “Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. 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.
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