” “We will go to a very quiet place,” he assured her, “a place where I have often taken my own sisters. 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. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. "Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head.
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