"Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. I received a telegram, as you know, during dinner. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. He leaned forward to better drink her in. Red apples and snow! How often had these two things entered his thoughts since his wanderings began? Red apples and snow!—and never again to behold them! "I am going out for a little while," she said.
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