"Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. . . ’ ‘I should do as she says if I were you, Hilary,’ observed Gerald, noting the fierce determination in the girl’s lovely face. A man is so apt to—to take women a little too lightly. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. I'll eat them when we start. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence.
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