She wanted to live. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. 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. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt.
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