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. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. It generalized everything she put to it. ” She smiled at him. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. She was wan and white.
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