” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. ’ ‘A pretty tale.
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