Then she burst into a peal of laughter. Sheppard, fleeing from him to the farthest corner of the room. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. What she said is true. And it's uncanny.
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