“Her lips pale, her face red from the cold, Dorothea said nothing. She ate a kind of cake she was fond of. She was still beautiful; nevertheless her face kept dissolving in that light, dissolving in the grey of the sky.”
“Her lips pale, her face red from the cold, Dorothea said nothing. She ate a kind of cake she was fond of. She was still beautiful; nevertheless her face kept dissolving in that light, dissolving in the grey of the sky.”
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