“I dare not,” she answered. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. 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. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe.
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