That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. I hope we may never find her again.
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