\" He leaned at a steeper pitch. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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