He was an imaginative young man. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that.
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