Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died. The doctor nodded to him curtly. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend.
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