People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. 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. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. And experience was slow in coming. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. THIS, this glissade, would be damned scoundrelism. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird.
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