“It’s a nice holiday. ” “It’s very good to be alive. . Her mother…. 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. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed.
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