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. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. "Are you a human being, to leave her thus?" "It is better so. She was pensive and thoughtful. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. .
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