” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds. CHAPTER I. ” “It is over for now,” he answered, “but I cannot bear to think that you are subject to this sort of thing. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. ” Tears flowed down her face. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. He was the true optimist; and that he should proceed, serenely unconscious of reefs and storms, she accepted the double buffets.
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