She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. 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. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. “It does nothing but sit there.
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