All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. Red apples and snow! How often had these two things entered his thoughts since his wanderings began? Red apples and snow!—and never again to behold them! "I am going out for a little while," she said. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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