It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. "Do not—do not!" "He must!" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. Nothing is settled upon. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. What is done cannot be undone.
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