The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow; I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more.
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