‘No, I do not go back. YOU did. ” “I am afraid,” she murmured, “that it would be difficult. 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. After all, that was life. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind.
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