Light the lantern. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai.
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