It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. ‘Never fear, my love. You know my fixed determination. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. I don’t quite know why. “You can’t think that I’m fool enough to be put off like this.
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