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. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. Earles recovered his spirits. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. “You will go and see her,” he begged.
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