” “Do you still love him?” “Just the opposite. Look here. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. One day it was gone. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church.
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