“How will you live?” she appealed. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. “But if some one else asked your advice? If some one else said, ‘Here is my teacher, a jaded married man on the verge of middle age, and he and I have a violent passion for one another. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse.
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