. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. It was, in his opinion, the most astonishing letter he had ever read. The perception of him flooded her being. Things now began to wear so serious a aspect that a messenger was secretly despatched to the Savoy for troops, and in half an hour a regiment of the guards arrived, who by dint of great exertion succeeded in partially dispersing the tumultuous assemblage. 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. Do you have a car?” She asked. The man was my husband. “I thought much of it amazingly beautiful. It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence.
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