But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. Just what it means. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory.
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