” “And I,” Ennison said, holding her fingers tightly, and forcing her to look into his eyes, “I will tell you what I have wished for you when we meet six months from to-day. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. “There’s no one here except me. But, hang it, I know it's good!" "Of course it is!" In the afternoon he began work on another tale.
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