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. Never sent for the shirt. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. “They would spoil every chance. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her.
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