It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. ” Lights went on inside the house on the upper level. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone.
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