’ ‘Oh, do they?’ Gerald said, sudden wrath kindling. I wonder——” He turned slowly round. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. 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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