There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. To vault over the pews was the work of a moment; and having gained the entry leading to the Red Room he passed through the first door; his progress being only impeded by the pile of broken stones, which he himself had raised. She pulled him by his tee shirt, pulling his mouth to her nipple. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy.
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