‘No. 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. ‘And me—’ ‘You, mademoiselle, are more trouble than you’re worth, and I’ll thank you to —’ ‘Hilary, don’t,’ said Lucy, and Melusine’s rising temper cooled a little. " "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred.
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