The Snow Queen heard, though, and as the sled ran past, she turned her head. Her single glance fell over Gerta like a blow. —mewling, red-faced, mortal, stinking of sweat— Gerta staggered and went to one knee under the weight of her own uselessness. The Snow Queen’s gaze flicked away. Gerta gasped for air, feeling the cold stab her lungs, and what did it matter, none of it mattered, she should lie down and die the snow was clean and she was filthy but if it covered her over no one would see what a wretched creature she was and that was the best that she could ever hope for. “No,” said Gerta.
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