The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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