“My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. ” She took a step. For a long time neither spoke again. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. He looked at her in some embarrassment. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated.
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