No other white people within twenty miles. ’ She turned her head, eyes blazing. 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. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. When things are at the worst, they'll mend. . What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it.
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