“Pray accept my apologies. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. ‘Don’t tell me. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers.
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