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The theme was a masquerade. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked.
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