" There was a pause. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. “On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. "Well, if you won't come, I shall help myself, and that's unsociable," pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the action to the word. Waving a white flag, naturally.
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