A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. “You did not tell me that you were going out, or I would have offered my escort. 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. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through. \"483-4492.
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