Come on. 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. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously.
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