He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Ennison better than I have ever told you,” she said slowly. 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. "Sorry you're obliged to keep your word. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. But she made no answer.
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