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. " "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical as the yellow or the black. Gerald at once lowered his voice to that intimate level again, and leaned towards her. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. It is the bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle.
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