You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. ” She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. "I understand," she said. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted.
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