That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. " "And what should a young man like this one have to forget?" Prudence demanded to know. This time she was indeed beaten. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. " CHAPTER IX.
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