A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. 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. The next few hours will tell. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack.
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