‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly. 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. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. They were terrible, horrible people. .
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