She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. 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. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God.
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