" As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. 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. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. "Gone," replied the wounded man. It wouldn't do to say that she was from the hospital. If you had taken your degree, for example. Heaven forbid. . Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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