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. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass.
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