" "Mercy!" cried Mrs. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. Good night! God bless you!" Upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which Mr. I couldn’t rest or eat or sleep. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. ’ Then all at once remembrance made her smile. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark.
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