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“Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. ” She shook her fist ceilingward. 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. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents.
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