\" He said. I guess. 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. Only a few weeks ago there was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldiery and the local police. Michelle listed the items in her pack. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. ‘Didn’t mean it, love.
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