"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. She could not hide her face. It was a clear, lovely, October morning.
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