Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. 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. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said.
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