. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. But it's confounded inconvenient. "You read it, Ruth.
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