By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. “John, don’t!” she cried. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child.
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