She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. " "What does it signify?" returned the latter, angrily. 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. " "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson.
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