” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. “It is unimportant,” she said. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. 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. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding.
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