‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. . A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. " For the life of him, O'Higgins could not think of anything else to say.
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