She will cry for days and nights together. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. The thought made her exquisitely happy. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory.
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