Wood fancied he recognised. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. " A peculiar smile illuminated Jack's features.
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