Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. "Read the first chapter of Job"; beyond that, nothing. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch.
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