. But we waste time. . The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers. But she was disappointed. 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 hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre.
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