For the young, immortality must seem promising, even wonderful! The grass is always greener on the other side. 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. The Night-Cellar XVIII. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. “There is my aunt,” she said. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. She's plenty clean below. This whole affair is truly my fault. “He is not—I don’t like him.
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