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"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. "Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it. 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. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. Then her eyes flashed. The latch had not fully caught. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. . Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal.
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