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. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her.
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