On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. 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. All sorts of considerations come in.
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