He can't be far off. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. 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. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. "But, we'll soon see.
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