“Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. 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. She wedged the towel between her legs. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing.
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