Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. 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. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. She auditioned and got a summer job teaching violin at the Mozart summer music camp for children, catching the luckiest of breaks.
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