If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; but he is no longer a man but a child. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. 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. Nothing was given away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to offer. It would give me great pleasure if you would dine with me somewhere first.
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