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. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. ” She shrugged her shoulders. "Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. She wanted to think.
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