"That's a good story, lad. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. 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. ’ ‘In any event,’ Gerald told her, with a grin, ‘I can’t marry this one. I found the door locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was as you see.
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