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. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. He pulsed and thrust as he released himself into her body. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. The air was crisp and dry.
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