I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. Not I. 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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