A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. . ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. “Indeed!” Anna answered indifferently.
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