‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. He would see this sister. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. ‘I know that, miss. . He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. I can keep you.
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