But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. E. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. ‘Parbleu, but I find that this is excessively clever, this passage. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. E.
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