The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. "And now, I've one further request," faltered Jack; "though I scarcely know how to make it. She refrained. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. 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.
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