It'll be turning over to-morrow. 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 listened with dumb fear in her eyes. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming.
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