” He read it in winter in the evening after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin slippers across the fender. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. Courtlaw,” she remarked. 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.
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