“Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another Sidney Carton. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired.
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