The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all.
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