The Old Mint III. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. The Dawn Pearl; how well they had named her! The pearl without price—his and not his! He took her arm and drew it under his; and together they went down the veranda steps. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors.
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