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. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. “I don’t know, John. “I was very foolish to have been deceived even for a moment. Mr. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me.
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