Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. A fortnight passed, then a month. F. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. 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. ’ ‘Eh?’ Almost Melusine betrayed herself at his startled look.
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