She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. This started a thought moving. ‘Parbleu, but what a person you make me! One who spies. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house.
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